


Fallen Apart

by Zlu_and_Luff



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-25 04:10:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6179692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zlu_and_Luff/pseuds/Zlu_and_Luff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if the good hunter never managed to kill Father Gascoigne? The story tells the tale of what happened to Gascoigne after he succumbed to the scourge. It's sad, yes, but there's Djura to lift the heavy mood, as Gascoigne tries to pick up the pieces of his broken life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written solo by Luff.
> 
> I suppose whether I will write more of this depends on whether anyone will like it. **So please, if you read, drop me a word, it always super-matters! :3**
> 
> If I continue, this will be bittersweet, with some interesting character interactions and thoughts and maybe one day, something like Gascoigne/Djura, we'll see... Can't deny I ship it, but it would have to be logical for the plot (not a fan of characters going OOC), so it may never get there. Their conversations and perspective (narrative will be switching between them) should be fun enough though. So yes, please talk to me, thank you XD
> 
> Art is by me, I might draw more for this fic. For my other Bloodborne art go here: http://luffik.tumblr.com/tagged/my-art

Another rib cage cracked open under the blows of a hunter axe, another arm was hacked away by a steady swing. Beasts, beasts all of them, and so one after another they'd fallen to his blade. He would hunt them all if he had to, purge this town. What was the town's name again? He knew it would come back to him soon, he was just tired. Tired, yes, but the work was not yet done. The head of the axe got caught up in the flesh and bone but he jerked it out and continued.

Each day beasts came here, trying make their way through. Some would try to sneak past him, but even though his eyes were not to be trusted, his smell was keen and his hearing sharp. He would find them skulking behind tombstones and trees. And yet, the monsters were getting more cunning. They were adapting, emulating humans better and better, but they would not fool him. The hunt had been his life for decades and he saw right through their horrid nature.

He knew there once used to be a reason why he had to stand guard here, among the graves, but right now he couldn't quite remember. A gust of wind rocked the withered tree branches, their shadows trembled in the silver moonlight. Silver... Like the key he had in his safekeeping. The key opened the gate at the top of the stairway and beyond that gate there was something that was important. There had to be, for the beasts were constantly out to get it. He had slain them all before they could make it up the stairs.

Suddenly he knew exactly why he was here. Someone was waiting for him back home and he was doing it all for them. Thanks to the hunters like him, ridding the city of the diseased vermin, they were all safe and sound.

There was an incessant pull that drew his thoughts and senses to the roof of a nearby crypt. Some undefined, disturbing thought nagged at his mind and guilt clawed at his insides. The edge of that roof was always there, ever at the back of his mind but he couldn't turn his head towards it or allow himself to wonder. Whenever he tried to, his arms would just deal another vicious blow. No, there was nothing on that roof, he told himself, yet the thick bandages on his eyes that made everything but a dark silhouette and the splattering blood that drowned out the wafts of familiar perfume, came as a relief.

The unclear feeling of dread never went away but now he could not afford to lose focus. Another beast was approaching, he could smell it from far away, the scents of sweat and bloodied metal carried on the wisps of fog. His nostrils flared. Blood, oh it smelled so sweet, it gave him strength and purpose. His hands were covered in it, up to the tips of his claws but he paid it no heed. A low growl gathered in his throat. He would stand his ground against all the invaders. This was a place he had to protect. This was his territory.

The beast had not yet fully turned but one could not be misled. It would be one of them sooner or later and swift death was a release from the encroaching madness.

It came armed but did not attack. The music it played became their common undoing.

At the first sounds of the music box, voices and memories bled through his mind like piercing shocks of lightning.

Little blonde heads... his daughters. _We love you, daddy._

A tender smile, and a hand brushing his cheek.  _Come back soon, my hunter..._

He jerked his head towards the roof.

_Viola..._

He staggered, gripping his temples. No... no, it couldn't be.

There was a long, dreadful moment of clarity before his world crumbled to pieces and his change began. The good hunter fell under his claws and teeth to the chime of a lullaby.

* * *

Hours later, the beast that had once been Father Gascoigne cradled the tiny music box in the palm of its giant paw, as it howled into the night.

* * *

 

 

  


* * *

Djura peered through his spyglass as the great door was pushed open. He chewed on the toothpick between his teeth. Another hunter who didn’t see the warning, eh? It seemed like the remaining part of Yharnam's population treated the beast scourge as an excuse to sink back into the convenience of illiteracy. But no, it was no hunter that ushered itself in. The beast was imposing, with a hulking torso and long clawed arms. Its hunched back reached half way up the nearby tree. It was coming from the Cathedral Ward and Djura wondered how it had managed to crawl all the way here through the narrow passages.

The beast looked about itself and the old hunter scowled as he recognized the remains of a familiar scarf hanging down from its neck. All beasts were people, yes, but he resented this particular breed of men. The Healing Church was not welcome here anymore, they had brought only misery to Yharnam and its inhabitants. It was hard even for Djura to accept a beast that wore the church garb. It brought out the vengeful bitter streak in the pacifist him. He thought that he should probably give it a chance, but the beast headed to the left and instantly roared and lunged forth at one of the peaceful, smaller beasts that idled by the bridge.

_Oh no, you don't._

Djura spat the toothpick out and signaled to the hunter below the tower. He didn't want to kill the beast but he wouldn't have it bulldozing its way around these parts and killing others until it established its dominance. It should go back whence it came. But the fire of the gatling gun was reserved solely for the human hunters. Beast menace was to be dealt with a gentler hand.

When he came down the stairs, bringing firecrackers, Zechariah was already waiting. They set out in silence. The local beasts ignored them for the most part, sparing the two familiar men only a few hisses. The newcomer didn't wait for the welcome party to arrive. Judging by the roars in the distance the huge beast was already making its way deeper into the town. Djura tried to overtake it, running down the rickety wooden walkways that flowed over the rooftops, climbing up the ladders and through the broken windows. He knew all the shortcuts around Old Yharnam by now but the giant pressed onwards as if driven by some purpose.

The beast really appeared to have a goal, the retired hunter realized after he caught up enough to see it poking its bandaged head into gaping frames of missing doors. It was searching for something. Curiously, Djura noted that one of its hands was balled into a fist. Which could be just the beastly instinct to clench claws or a cramp in mutated muscles, but it could also be holding something. It intrigued the powder keg somewhat.

As the beast lingered in one of the doorways, Djura managed to get ahead of it at last. He lit several firecrackers at once and dropped them under its feet from the safety of the rooftop. It roared and reared. He threw more and finally it turned away. That was his companion's cue to throw a blood cocktail on the trail where the beast came from, encouraging it to retrace its own steps and flee back.

The plan was easy. They played bad hunter and good hunter. Djura usually starred in the first role, mostly because Zechariah didn't feel too comfortable around explosives anymore, especially not the ones with short fuse. For Djura firecrackers were like an extension of his own fingers. Making them was his way of relaxing between bigger projects. He mourned the fact he had to experiment alone, as the other remaining powder keg always tried to keep safe distance from anything that entailed fire.

The beast ignored the blood cocktail completely. If anything, the other hunter appeared more interested in it but controlled himself. The beast spun back around again. It rumbled and thumped forward, and as much as Djura didn't want to resort to the heavier artillery, he felt that the situation demanded it. He threw a molotov cocktail in the beast's way, lining the ground in front of it with fire. That didn't make an impression either. The creature growled and bounded over it with ease. They ran after it but it was clearly going to beat them to the door at the end of the street.

The ashen hunter saw Zechariah gesturing to him from the rooftop on the other side of the street. Djura had to squint but he picked out the gestures. The other man was suggesting to let the beast just push onwards. There was no point to turn it back anymore. Whether Paarl would deal with it or it would find its new home in Yahar'gul, either way, the problem would be off their hands. Djura considered that for a moment, rubbing his chin.

“Fine.”

They stopped the chase. In the distance, the beast tugged the heavy door open. The ashen hunter noted as interesting that it retained enough humanity to do that. Then came another realization, that he wished he had some ten minutes ago. The frayed garb the beast wore was not exactly the standard cut of one of the church minister. It had its own unique touch, like the attires of the old hunters... And that silver mane was not so unfamiliar either. He understood he had known this beast once.

It was Father Gascoigne.

And now, Paarl was probably going to fry and eat him if they didn't do something about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now some explanations/assumptions I've made. I don't claim any of these to be the ultimate truth, it's just some stuff I thought could fit in.
> 
> \- In the game, Father Gascoigne drops the key to the gate leading to the Tomb of Oedon. Basing on this I assumed for the fic that he was actually the one who'd helped the Oedon Chapel Dweller settle in the chapel and ward it against beasts to create a safe place. Following that, Gascoigne was supposed to help the Dweller direct people to the chapel, and probably even managed to spread some word about it, but as he sank deeper and deeper into madness, he began slaying everybody who tried to seek refuge there and crossed the graveyard (and the Chapel Dweller sits there alone, and thinks no one wants to come... :c).  
> \- The good hunter was good indeed for instead of attacking Gascoigne he/she just tried to play the melody, and bring him home, but they paid for it with their life.  
> \- I am assuming there are many more wooden walkways and ladders in Old Yharnam than we see in the game. Since Djura is in Old Yharnam for years, and he believes the beasts down below are not to be disturbed, he would have made sure he can get anywhere he wants around the town without having to descend to the streets.  
> \- Since the game tells us Djura had three companions (look at the Gatling Gun item description if you've never seen this info), but we don't really know anything about any of them, I took some liberties and fleshed out their personalities and stories the way I thought would be interesting. And since there's only one of them left currently alive (the hunter at the bottom of the clocktower in Old Yharnam, called Djura's Ally in the strategy guide), then you'll mostly hear of him for now. All will be explained, including why he stays on the ground among the beasts, instead of accompanying Djura on the tower.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear readers! Thanks so much for the whole lot of kudos you left on the first chapter, and special thanks to those of you who wrote to me over on tumblr :3! Sorry for the longer break. I needed to read up on Bloodborne lore before feeling confident enough to progress (I may choose to stray from canon in a few places but at least now it will be done consciously XD). I hope this new chapter will be to your liking. Please be brave and leave me a comment (you don't need to be logged in to do that), I'd really love to hear from you! :3

The door to Yahar'gul stood wide open and it really was quite a pickle they were in. Paarl lay in the distance and blue lightnings crackled along its elongated frame as its head began to rise from where it had been resting. The darkbeast didn't much like visitors, and Djura couldn't honestly blame it for that. It was Paarl's territory now. The beast had escaped from Hypogean Gaol years ago and all this time nobody had managed to capture and force it back inside, or even patch the prison's wall up, for fear of being electrocuted. At some point it seemed, they had just stopped trying altogether, and left the creature to its own devices.

Djura didn't consider Paarl to be under his protection - the beast was coping here on its own well enough. However he was always thankful that it'd made its lair directly beyond the door to the Unseen Village, as that ensured he would have to only rarely come in contact with his Yahar'gul neighbours.

That is, he was thankful for that on most days.

“Gascoigne!” Djura climbed down from the roof, acutely aware of how his joints were not as springy as they used to be, and ran, following the beastly hunter, as he yelled at his back, “Turn back around, you big oaf!”

For once, Gascoigne seemed to pause. Too bad he was standing right in the middle of the doorway and Paarl was already staring at him like it was admiring a peculiar framed work of art. Whatever thought processes and calculations were going on in the beastly hunter's head, the result was clearly to throw common sense out of the window, because instead of taking Djura's advice, the beast took a hunched step forward.

“I know you're in there, Gascoigne,” Djura shouted after him, “Don't be a fool. Come back 'ere! Whatever it is you're looking for, dying now won't further your progress...” he tried to reason as the darkbeast rose from its place ahead of them.

Djura could swear he heard the big hunter snort. Of course, anyone else would just call it a mindless beastly snarl, but the powder keg knew better than that. “Don't 'bah' at me, Gascoigne. I'm serious. You think now that you're a beast, it frees you from critical thinking and basic self-preservation? No such luck, my friend. Paarl's not going to let you through, and even if, what's your plan for later, eh?”

It was surely not the time and place to be having this monologue with Gascoigne's backside but luckily Paarl's nature was one of languid curiosity. For now it merely straightened its neck, and tilted its head, a visage of death looking at them from above. They must have truly been a strange sight to behold.

Gascoigne pressed onwards and Djura was sure he did it out of sheer stubbornness rather than lack of comprehension.

“Very well. Go then, I say! Ignore the man who wants to help you and get yourself killed for nothing!”

It was then that the priest actually looked at him for the first time. Djura knew that the keen beastly eyes would see him even from behind the stretched bandages. But it was not the right moment to be thoughtfully gazing at each other either. Paarl apparently thought the same and swooped down on them, done silently observing.

Sparks danced around them and hair stood up on their heads as the air filled with static. Gascoigne roared and swiped at the skull that narrowly missed him, while Djura rolled to the side, almost losing his wolf cap on the way. This was rightly foolish, he had to go back, Gascoigne or no. The beasts of Old Yharnam were more important. He certainly wasn't going to try pulling his weapons on Paarl.

There was a whistle as a single firework shot up into the sky.

Bless Zechariah for keeping his head and overcoming his fear of fire. He must have ran to one of the firework stashes on the rooftops. They had installed them there after Paarl climbed over the wall to Old Yharnam and paid them a surprise visit a few years back. They had tried a lot of ways to repel it back beyond the wall before, by sheer chance, they'd discovered its captivation with flares and other colorful pyrotechnics. It was good to know that they'd managed to isolate those caches well enough for the powder not to grow damp.

Djura caught the beastly hunter's wrist in both of his hands and gave him a solid pull, putting all his strength into it. It was risky, he knew, and perhaps he was being a tad too trusting, but somehow he didn't think the other hunter would try to kill him. Gascoigne weighed a ton and could have easily ignored the tug but he seemed so shocked by the reckless gesture that he complied and took one step back, before freezing again.

“Let us help you.” Djura coaxed him.

Gascoigne's teeth were still bared. The beast stared at him dumbly.

“Come on,” Djura gave him another pull. “You're looking for something. Someone? For Viola, yes? Let me help you find her.”

As more fireworks shot up into the sky from one of the roofs of Old Yharnam, Gascoigne just stood there, unmoving, and the ashen hunter thought that this was it, he'd have to leave the other man behind. But then around the fourth or fifth tug, Gascoigne finally stirred and followed Djura back towards the gate.

Paarl did not try to stop them. It watched the skies in peaceful fascination, it's skull-like face tilted to the side as a few more fireworks raced up and burst into two-coloured arcing sparks. Djura wished he could have given the fireworks more of an aesthetic kick. Unfortunately certain chemicals were hard to come by in these desperate times. Well, at least it still impressed Paarl. Which was what mattered, right?

Zechariah watched them incredulously as they crossed the threshold between the Unseen Village and stepped back into Old Yharnam. Djura made an effort to push the doors closed again while Gascoigne just stood there, seeming to have lost whatever purpose had been driving him before.

Djura left him behind and headed back up the street. After a moment though, he looked over his shoulder expectantly. “Well? Are you coming?”

In the end the beast followed, but even Djura wasn't sure if it had something to do with his inquiry, or rather that now with the door closed, it simply had nowhere else to go. When he reached the first ladder on the way, the ashen hunter joined Zechariah up on the rooftops.

“Well done.” He smiled. “I owe you.” Truth was, he was probably getting too old for such blood-curdling ventures, but none of them were going to remark on it.

The other hunter gestured his welcome. They walked side by side for as long as the roofs and walkways allowed. Gascoigne dragged his way through the street below them, not trying to look into the doorways anymore. For a beast, he looked rather broken.

Zechariah tapped Djura on the shoulder, tearing his attention away from the sorry sight down below.

His hands moved quickly, forming more gestures. It wasn't any official sign language, just something necessity had forced the two of them to come up with. Djura would usually reply aloud. Mostly because they both needed to hear a human voice.

_What happened to letting this one go?_

Djura glanced back towards Gascoigne and shrugged. “Well... you know how it goes with me and saving beasts...” Then something in the other hunter's face caught his attention. “Wait a second, you recognized him even before I did, didn't you?” He shot the other powder keg a suspicious look.

Zechariah sighed. _It was a good idea to just let him go._

“I know. But I feel like I owe this to Viola. Last time I saw her she was getting married to this zealous church ox. She probably wouldn't appreciate having to scrub him off the ground in Yahar'gul. On the other hand, it's been years. Maybe they aren't married anymore? To be honest I wouldn't be surprised if she'd divorced Gascoigne right after they'd stepped away from the altar.”

The other hunter shook his head.

_I don't think she did._

* * *

 

* * *

Gascoigne huddled in the corner of one of the abandoned buildings and everything about him said NO. He roared when either of them tried to approach him, and so they left him be. His attempts to tear them to shreds seemed half-hearted at best, at least to Djura, but he couldn't deny he always gave beasts much credit.

When they weren't trying to enter for a longer time, Gascoigne calmed down completely and just sat there. Djura decided to give him some time and just watched the priest through a hole in the roof. He couldn't see all that well, since the beast resided on the ground floor of a taller building, but it was enough to keep an eye on him.

Zechariah visited him at one point and stared at the beast together with the ashen hunter.

_It looks like he's gone._

Djura begged to differ. “No. Not quite. He's not yet fallen into the scourge routine, or something shook him out of it. Look at him. He's clearly upset. Before we interrupted, he was driven. I need to find out what happened. I think I'll drop by their house tomorrow.”

_I could go instead._

“No, it's about time I went for a walk around Yharnam.”

For years already, he stayed here. Protecting, keeping vigil, riddling occasional intruders with holes if need be. Zechariah was most often the one to go out, to scout and scavenge for items they needed. It was easier for him to move around the streets now sure, but Djura for once felt something like a moral obligation waking up inside him. He'd often felt it towards the beasts of Old Yharnam, and towards his companions, out of whom Zechariah was the last one, but it's been long since an outsider invoked it. It wasn't a complete surprise. Viola had been something of a friend to him once. Even if that had been long ago. Before Gascoigne came along and before the fires of Old Yharnam. Before he stopped dreaming.

Zechariah's repeated gesturing broke through his temporary reverie and the ashen hunter focused on reading the signs again.

_Maybe I'll come along at least?_

Djura gave his friend a hurt, one-eyed scowl from under his wolf cap. “You're wounding me, truly. I can handle myself without a massive gatling gun and a tower. How about you put some faith in me?”

 _Sure_ , his companion smiled and let go of the subject.

He left soon after.

Djura shook his head. And so it was decided, he was going. For many years he had steered clear of other Yharnamites, but it wasn't like his contact with civilization would make any difference anymore. From what he knew, beasts roamed the streets of all the entire town now.

He didn't linger on the roof for much longer. Gascoigne wasn't the only beast in Old Yharnam, and hardly the most important one at that. In the evening, the retired hunter made his usual round across the district. He traversed the wooden walkways, keeping silent watch over the familiar alleys. It had taken the remaining powder kegs years to connect the rooftops with these narrow bridges made of wood and ropes in a way that would allow them to always stay above. It'd been easier back then, when there had still been four of them.

The beasts in the streets below went about their business as usual, unwittingly retracing the same steps each day. Djura knew their routes by heart now. A few of the beastly inhabitants of Old Yharnam raised their heads at the creaking of wood above them, watching the passage of their ashen guardian. Some hissed and hid away from sight but most paid him no heed at all. Djura didn't expect them to recognize him or ever be thankful for the protection he and Zechariah offered. They didn't have to do anything at all. He would stay here until the end of his days regardless. There was no other place he would rather be, no other repentance for the sins of his youth.

Djura gazed at the blackened walls of houses and gaping windows with broken teeth of glass. The fires had died out long ago but he could still see them raging in his memories. He'd never forget that moonlit night filled with flames and screams of terror, glass breaking from heat and more fire bursting through the shattered windows. There was not a single building in Old Yharnam that did not bear the scars of that fateful night. Many were but bare bones of what they used to be.

With hindsight came deeper understanding. He had come here together with the rest of the hunters, saviors turned killers, when the Healing Church played its hand. The powder kegs had been the cleaners, the demolition crew, told to purge the plague district with flames, and for what they'd thought to be the greater good, they'd done their best to burn it down to cinders. Back then, all that mattered was to block all exits, isolate and then cleanse this place, not letting the ashen sickness spread further. He hadn't really cared to know the local people. Not before it was too late.

He knew now that even when the line between man and beast was heavily blurring, not all was lost, as long as there were memories of life to cling to, a purpose to hold onto and best someone at your side to constantly remind you of them. After having renounced his vows and returned to Old Yharnam, he had tried to help its people countless times, but before he could find out who they were and what they'd held dear, they'd been already too far gone to be reminded of their past life by a stranger.

Before retiring to sleep, Djura paused by the wreck of the two storied house where they'd left Gascoigne. A curious sound was coming from there now, in odd intervals. It took him a while to recognize it. It was a broken chime of a music box, operated awkwardly but with stubborn effort.

Before long, the powder keg remembered Gascoigne's clenched hand and his frenzied search. It was an odd feeling, of sympathy mixed with satisfaction to know that he'd been right. This beast still clearly had a purpose.

Anyway, nothing proved it better than the empty space where Gascoigne used to be and the open church gate they found by what passed for the break of dawn around these parts.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you see, I've made some minor alterations to Old Yharnam's "in game" state, like putting the fires out. Because I really see no logical explanation why Djura would be burning beasts in Old Yharnam (unless it's other people bringing them there to hate on Djura, in which case I imagine he would prompty extinguish the fires).
> 
> As to times of day, I am going with assumption there are some sort of days and nights, or Djura differentiates them somehow. I won't be covering big events like blood moon etc, so this is not exactly the night of the hunt setting, just Yharnam going to hell in general :'D.
> 
> If you're curious about something, feel free to ask!


End file.
